It’s Hard to Say How Angels Turned It Around

There’s somethin’ happenin’ here. What it is ain’t exactly clear.

It looks like the Angels are making some kind of pennant drive. But considering how far back they are coming from, their current move is sort of like making a run at the Indy 500 checkered flag after starting from the parking lot.

Talk about coming from out of the pack. The Angels are coming from out of the dumpster.

From 19 1/2 games out of the division lead, the Angels have stormed to within 10 1/2 games of the lead.

How are they doing it? Snooping around Anaheim Stadium Sunday, where the Angels beat the Detroit Tigers, 4-0, I came up with some possible answers to the mystery.

For one thing, Angel Manager Cookie Rojas is pulling lineups out of his hat. Literally.

Cookie actually keeps the game’s lineup cards tucked inside his baseball cap, which, when you think about it, is brilliant.

The lineups are always close at hand, and Cookie never has to consult the cards posted on the dugout wall. Even if he goes to the mound for a conference with his battery, he’s got all the information he needs sitting right on top of his head.

Also, like Frosty the Snowman’s headgear, Cookie’s cap seems to contain some magic. Like Sunday, when Rojas won the game by consulting his cap and then not making a move.

Bottom of the eighth, scoreless tie, two out, bases loaded, Brian Downing due up and the Tigers’ Mike Henneman coming out of the bullpen. Henneman is a rightie, so is Downing, and lefty Wally Joyner is sitting in the dugout, available to hit. Time for Wally?

“For the first time in 10 years, I thought I was gonna be pinch-hit for,” said Downing, whose muscles are sadly atrophied from his three-day abstinence from weightlifting during the All-Star break. “The way the year’s going, I really kind of thought Wally’s going to hit.”

But Rojas, gazing into the depths of his cap, decided to save Joyner for the ninth inning, if needed.

“If the game stays tied,” Rojas reasons, “we can pinch-hit for (George) Hendrick the next inning.”

The game did not stay tied, because Downing slashed a two-run single to left, leaving this observer with the impression that the Angels’ manager is one smart Octavio.

Genius comes in many forms, of course. Shortstop Dick Schofield made this play in the seventh: one out, Darrell Evans on first with a single, Chet Lemon hits a low line drive to short. With no hesitation, Schofield backs up slightly and short-hops the ball. Evans holds at first and looks on helplessly as Schofield whips an easy 6-4-3 double play.

“It just happened,” Schofield explained.

But what if a pebble gets in the way? What if the the 100-m.p.h. liner doesn’t bounce true? Schofield had to make a split-second decision on how to play the ball, and baseball instinct tells him to charge it, catch it on the fly, get the sure out.

What were you thinking, Dick?

“I try not to think,” Schofield said.

Everything was clicking for the Angels Sunday. Tony Armas makes a fence-banger catch in left, Gus Polidor gets down a sacrifice bunt, Terry (Who?) Clark pitches an eight-inning gem.

“He pitched one hell of an eight innings,” Rojas enthused. “He done a hell of a job.”

Cookie done a hell of a job, too. In the postgame press conference, he even took charge and asked the questions.

“How about the play by Schofield?” Cookie asked the assembled writers. “How about Brian Downing coming through?”

We had no answers, but how about this question?

How about Rojas, who got his job almost by accident, but has been playing the lineup cards in his hat with the skill and success of a Vegas blackjack dealer?

I don’t know about Manager of the Year, but this guy’s a shoo-in for Rookie Cookie of the Year.

You have to give somebody the credit for turning the Angels around, a turnabout which, by the way, the Angels are taking in stride. After Sunday’s stupendous win, the clubhouse was as subdued as after any of the early season’s many, many losses.

Either the Angels believe they should be playing this way, or they’re in a state of shock. You don’t pour champagne when you’re still three games under .500, granted, but a hearty laugh or a sincere handshake among players would not seem out of line.

I asked Rojas if he has noticed any changes in the clubhouse during the current hot streak.

Cookie craned his neck to look out the door of his office, into the clubhouse.

“We haven’t painted the walls,” he said, deadpan. “We have a new sofa and chairs, that’s about it.”

I would have come back at him with a devastating zinger, but I wasn’t wearing my cap.